Inspiration, respiration, expiration.

Ratiocination

Anti-intellectual renascence,

 Against all reason, this is our season,

 Whatever the season, we accept our reason.

Can one soar in space?

 Is this as high as one can go?

 I am high with the ideas I vomit forth to the world.

 So what more can I do?

Removed from the lowest limits of the depths of the nether world.
I accept my choices, they are made, they have made me,
I am, I will be, evermore, can I soar into space?

 Where is my place, is this my karma? From this my dharma?

Questioning, questing, requesting, ingesting.

We stay alive, but do we thrive?

Asking the questions again and again
And never knowing if the answers are lies,
 But still we try, fly to get high, soar into the sky 

 May we soar in space?

Is this our place?

Extirpation?